Sonnet.58

Sonnet.58-I avert thou moulder not missile for public dishamony,And therefore thou mayest without atrophy triumph,The relegat'd souls which time's ruse muses in disuse, Of the plow of their mutation prize,bibliocrazy romping in every nook supplant'd,Thou art fair in benevolent warfare as in mysticism,pass muster,Purging them thy norm,a pleading nausea to their navels' encroach'd,my apex placate,And art is spum'd when vision is spum'd mus'd to outflank these outcastes and the ilks,Some daintier innoculation of time test'd intergrity to oxygenate sunk mores and their tendons,And not sloth for sloth to overwhelm hazy thoughts,What strain'd tenses and stress'd egos,this purgatory ozone cannot miss,Thou art truly fair,when thou that tardy path abscond,thou truly fair wert verily abscond'd,In punctillious gospel,glowing fire and charcoals from its lectern,by being homeric racconteaur,And their tardy engross,with piffles dickesian prowls triumpheth,Where mammoth palter upon palters,pancromatic merely to vulgar path,